The Dragon Winged Prince Of Fire In GOT/ASOIF

"Why! Why! Why!" The boy's voice shattered the cold, endless silence, the word erupting from him in anguish. 

A booming voice responded, mocking him: "You dare question the gods, boy?" 

A man sat on a throne of pure lightning, his smirk as cold as the electric bolts that crackled around him. Laughter echoed from every corner of the vast hall, harsh and unfeeling. The boy looked up and saw beings he had once worshipped—gods he had prayed to as a child when his mother was dying. Gods he had begged for mercy when, at seven, his kingdom fell and he was tortured by his captors. Yet now, staring up at them, all he could whisper was, "Why?"

"The boy speaks out of turn," sneered a god with the lower body of a fish. With a casual flick, he tossed a golden coin across the room to the thunder god, who caught it with ease. "It's broken, brother," he added with a lazy grin.

The thunder god chuckled, examining the coin before giving the boy a smug look. "Oh, rejoice, boy! Your suffering has made me three gold souls richer!" 

Laughter erupted again, a cacophony of mocking voices that bounced off the walls, surrounding the boy in a storm of ridicule. Their amusement felt like needles against his skin, and something inside him snapped. All at once, his trembling turned to anger, his voice erupting hoarse but fierce: "I renounce you all!"

The laughter died suddenly, confusion flashing across their faces. Invisible threads snapped one by one as he continued, his voice growing stronger. "I curse you! You are unworthy of mankind's prayers!"

The thunder god recoiled, eyes wide with shock. The boy's defiance echoed back at them, and for the first time, he saw fear flicker in their eyes.

"You dare?" The god with flames for hair, gripping a massive war hammer, rose in fury. In one swift movement, he struck the boy's soul with the hammer, sending him spiraling into darkness.

---

The Void

The boy's laughter rang out in the vast, empty void as he fell, his voice laced with a strange sense of freedom. "I am free," he murmured, his words lost in the emptiness around him. He drifted through the void, feeling a release from their cruelty and power. The silence closed in, and in that endless darkness, he found a twisted peace. His only thoughts were fragments of his former despair and rage, his mantra becoming a whisper in the stillness: Why me? The gods are cruel… humanity is cruel.

How long he drifted, he could not say. But finally, a voice broke through the quiet, sweet and warm, carrying a kindness he had not felt in a lifetime. "You poor soul," it murmured, filling the void with warmth.

Seven figures appeared, their forms soft, their eyes gentle. The first, cloaked in mist, gazed at him curiously. "He is not one of ours, and he doesn't carry their scent."

Another, with a motherly face, smiled. "Still, he is only a child. And if he isn't ours, it means we can help him without disturbing our own."

The boy tensed, wary of these new gods. But their soft voices calmed his anger, his exhaustion sinking into him like a weight he had forgotten he carried. For the first time in an eternity, he felt safe.

A god with a hammer looked at the boy's soul and said, "We can keep him only until he recovers. Being in our realm for too long will lead him to fade; he has no divinity to sustain him here." The boy's body lay limp as the first god, the motherly one, reached out and cradled him gently. Each god took their turn tending to his soul, their touch as gentle as a feather.

Warmth spread through him, soothing the jagged edges of his spirit. When anger flared up, a soft lullaby drifted to him, easing his heart. Each time he closed his eyes, he felt the strands of their kindness wrap around him, weaving him back together, thread by tender thread.

The Boy Awakens

Slowly, the boy stirred, opening his eyes to see a figure draped in dark robes. The figure gazed down, their face hidden, yet their gaze was gentle. "He's awake. Who will take him first?"

"I will!" came a cheerful voice. A woman stepped forward, radiant and warm, and in one swift motion, she lifted him out of the figure's grasp, cradling him as if he were her own.

The boy's confusion was clear on his face, but her soft, sweet voice soothed him. "We don't have much time," she said, her voice like a song, "but I will explain. I and my siblings are gods of a different world, a place called Planetos. We are among many gods there, but we are a young pantheon, strong and growing. Yet, unlike others, we cannot interfere with the lives of our children, even if we wish to. Our role is only to watch."

The boy shuddered, memories of the cruel gods flooding back. His soul flickered with fear and anger, but then, a melodious song filled his ears, calming him like a lullaby. The song ended, and the woman smiled gently, "I will teach you to sing and dance, to charm beasts and enchant people by the thousands. My songs will help you find peace." She stretched out her hand, and as he took it, his body shifted, becoming light and strong.

For the first time in a long time, the boy felt something beyond anger or fear. In her arms, he felt warmth and peace—a quiet promise of healing and a future that was his own.